


confessional

by Areiton



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fingering, M/M, Panties, Priest Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Is Tony's guardian, improper use of a confessional, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: “Will you be good, baby? Will you bequiet?” Bucky breathes, biting down on the delicate tendon in Tony’s neck, dragging his tongue over the throbbing pulse, and shoving his fingers in Tony’s lush wet mouth.Tony Stark Bingo: T5 Kink: Vibes in Public





	confessional

**Author's Note:**

> This is all VerdantMoth's fault. Tell her thank you.

He can hear Steve’s voice, smooth and deep and steady, but it’s a distant awareness.

More pressing is _Tony._ Pressing close, a whine high and almost soundless in his throat, his fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, and he knows—he needs to put a stop to this.

But Tony’s whining, and his mouth is sweet and pliant and wet under his, and he couldn’t drag himself away to save his life.

“Please,” Tony whispers, breathless and trembling and Bucky nips at his lip, licks over the sting when Tony jolts against him.

Beyond the confessional, the organ is playing and Steve is praying, something solemn and final, and Bucky leans down, licks over the shell of Tony’s ear, traces the delicate curve of it and presses a kiss, soft as silk to the delicate skin behind his ear. “Can you be quiet, sweetheart?”

Tony’s eyes are wide, wide and desperate, a thin line of color almost eaten up completely by blown pupils. Bucky traces a finger over his cock in dark, perfectly tailored suit pants. “Told you not to wear ‘em. Told you your ass was irresistible in those fucking pants,” he murmurs. “And you did it anyway. It’s like you _wanted_ to be fucked. Didja, baby. Did you want me to pull you in here, fuck you while the entire congregation walks past us.”

Tony jolts, his eyes so wild he looks almost feral, and Bucky smirks. Strokes him, a hard stroke that teases more than anything, dips down to swallow Tony’s despeate keen a moment before it breaks free.

“P—please,” Tony whispers, hips twitching up.

There are footsteps, beyond the little confessional, and he can _hear_ the murmur of voices, rising and falling and gathering.

It’s stupid.

It’s so fucking stupid.

But he wants—he _wants_ and Tony is here, pretty and sweet and begging.

And Steve is just beyond the confessional.

“He’d kill me for this,” he murmurs, opening Tony’s pants. “Defiling his sweet son in his own damn church.”

Tony bites at his lip for that. He hates being reminded that Steve is his guardian, hates being reminded that he has to be _taken care of_.

Bucky hates that _he_ can’t take care of Tony.

“Will you be good, baby? Will you be _quiet?”_ Bucky breathes, biting down on the delicate tendon in Tony’s neck, dragging his tongue over the throbbing pulse, and shoving his fingers in Tony’s lush wet mouth.

He gets a moan, a desperate bob of his head, and Bucky smiles, a filthy teasing thing before he pulls back, and pushes Tony’s pants down.

And freezes. “Holy Christ, Tony,” he gasps.

The pants—they were sinful, clinging to his ass in a way that oughta be downright illegal. He looks almost angelic in his black button down and scarlet tie—a fallen angel.

“Did you wear those for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting reverently over the scarlet satin. They’re silky and almost shimmer in the low light, snug boy shorts with golden bows on each leg and fishnet thigh highs.  “Get all prettied up for Daddy?”

The question makes Tony gasp, and Bucky smiles, licks into his mouth and hooks two fingers into his panties, rubbing over his wet cockhead.

“Not all I did for you, Sarge,” he taunts, and Bucky’s fingers clench, involuntary, and the satin gives with a loud _rip_.

Beyond the thin walls of their confessional, he can hear a hitch in conversation, and Stevie, god bless him, calling to his congregants. “Bless you, my child,” he murmurs and a little girl giggles, and Bucky smirks.

He gathers up the ripped panties, wipes the precum on Tony’s cock off—and then shoves them in his mouth, and whispers. “Be quiet now, darling.”

Tony’s eyes are wide and shocked, but he’s trembling, and _dripping_ precum, and Bucky can see the way his cheeks hollow, just a little, sucking at the damp panties, and he has to choke back his own groan.

“Dirty little angel,” he breathes, ghosting a hand over Tony’s ass, _finally_ , and Tony’s head thuds back against the dark oak paneling. His eyes flash at Tony who smirks and twists, turning and leaning into the wood, pushing his ass back and—

“Fuck,” he hisses.

The plug is black and red, nestled against Tony’s stretched and swollen rim, and when he touches it, presses it deeper into his boy, he feels the soft give of a button, the immediate vibration tickling through his fingtertip and the response in Tony as he whines, high and muffled, and goes up on his tiptoes, writhing as he tries to get away, even as he pushes back against the slight pressure.

“Oh, baby boy,” he breathes. “You really did get yourself ready for me,” he purrs into Tony’s ear, pressing the plug hard, rubbing a nail over Tony’s delicate pink rim and scraping his teeth over the Tony’s neck when he tosses his head back.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of you.”

The voices mingling with Steve’s are thin and wavering, elderly, and he knows—they always take the longest, but they’re the last to reach Steve, moving slow and talking slower.

“I’ll take you slow, baby,” he whispers, giving the plug a good tug and Tony moans, soft and muffled around his panties, “Gonna spread you all across my bed and lick you open for hours. But right now—”

He fumbles his pants, frees his cock and Tony whines, pushes his ass back as Bucky slides into him. He drops his head, bites at the soft give of Tony’s shoulders as that tight heat wraps around him.

There’s always a moment, when he first pushes into Tony, that he can’t breath, can’t think, can’t do anything but press _deeper,_ til his hips are snug against his boy’s sweet ass, and Tony is trembling.

“’s good,” he slurs, presses into Tony’s skin, “Christ, angel, you’re so good.”

Tony bucks against him, desperate and Bucky grips his hips, metal and flesh fingers digging into bony hips. Beyond their small sanctuary, the talk starting to dwindle.

“Ready?” he breathes

Tony pushes back, hums almost indignantly, and Bucky smiles. Catches the scarlet tie and wraps his hand around and Tony makes a noise that’s almost a purr, and he uses it, leverages the hand in his tie and the one on his hip and fucks him.

He wants it to be hard and fast, sweaty hips slapping against a pert ass—so he fucks him slow, grinds deep against his prostate each time. He can feel the silent vibrations of his boy against his chest, the muffled noises of pleasure that he wants to hear loud and echoing off the walls of his bedroom. “Gonna fuck you open tonight, baby boy. Make you _scream_.”

He presses Tony into the smooth panel, traps his cock against it, and let’s the hand on Tony’s hip drop, rub up behind his balls, pressing against his perineum, while his cocks grinds into Tony, hard and insistent against his prostate, and Tony makes a noise, choked and desperate, and comes, milky and hot against the dark oak, his hot hole clenching around Bucky and he can hear Tony’s muffled voice, a plea shaping his name, can hear Steve murmuring a final blessing, can smell the holy incense and fragrant oil and _sex_ , can feel Tony’s body rippling around him and his throat working under his metal hand and the way his body goes limp, trusting against him, and it tips Bucky over the edge, and he spills, hot and endless in the tight clench of his boy, fucking in through it, grinding his pleasure into Tony’s warmth.

After, when he pulls out, his come eases out, trickles down Tony’s thighs, and he thumbs it clean, presses it back in and slips the plug  in, nestling it against Tony’s rim with a happy little hum, kissing Tony’s cheek while he does. He steps back, and tugs the panties out of Tony’s mouth, replaces it with a deep, filthy kiss.

“Made a mess, baby,” he murmurs, and Tony smiles at him through sooty lashes. Bucky smirks, wipes himself clean with the panties and lifts it to Tony’s lips.

His dick twitches, watching his boy lick the panties clean with tiny kitten like flicks of his tongue.

“I can’t wait to take you to my bed, sweetheart,” he breathes, and takes the panties back, wiping the dark panel clean of spunk. He shoves them in his pocket and smirks. “Make sure you wear those pretty stockings for me, Tony.”

Tony is tugging his pants up, smoothing himself up, and he looks neat and sweet, as pretty as angel, as filthy as sin. There’s a hint of a bruise peering above his collar, and Bucky tugs his collar up.

“Can you do that, pretty? Keep yourself full of my come and wearing those pretty stockings for me until tonight?”

Tony smiles, and from beyond the confessional, they hear Steve calling for Bucky. In his pocket, his phone vibrates, and Buck fumbles to text Steve. They wait, still and silent, until Steve sighs and his footsteps fade away, and Bucky catches Tony’s hand before he slips out of the confessional.

“I want you, baby. In my bed and ready for me, tonight.”

He smiles, sweet and dirty, and Tony goes up on his tiptoes, lips hot against his ear as he murmurs, “Yes, daddy.”


End file.
